


high speed weekend survivor

by babypapaya



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Background Relationships, Car Accidents, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ensemble Cast, Formula SAE, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, if you're picky about the accuracy of carbon fiber lamination don't read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babypapaya/pseuds/babypapaya
Summary: Formula Studentis a student engineering competition held annually in the UK. Student teams from around the world design, build, test, and race a small-scale formula style racing car.It’s 06:12 on a Sunday morning in October, and the Formula Student team at the University of Stuttgart is having a bad start to the season. Nico Rosberg has a headache, his composites crew leader is out of commission with a broken wrist, and Daniel Ricciardo—the man who’s supposed to bedriving the fucking race car they’re trying to build—just crashed a road car. Nico’s road car.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc & Daniel Ricciardo, Charles Leclerc/Sebastian Vettel, Daniel Ricciardo/Nico Rosberg, Lewis Hamilton & Nico Rosberg, Valtteri Bottas & Daniel Riccardo
Comments: 25
Kudos: 50
Collections: F1 Soup Kitchen Secret Santa 2020





	1. ACT I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [partywitharichzombie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/partywitharichzombie/gifts).



> thank you to my dear partywitharichzombie for having impeccable taste with this prompt, and big ups to legendofthefireemblem for organising this!  
> [photo refs for characters at their fic ages! gentlemen, synchronise your mental images](https://horseyalbon.tumblr.com/private/638147154016436224/tumblr_Y9EHcie0OILyNLFj5)  
> [corresponding spotify playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2NZvBFcYmDd3WBlPcDflag?si=hYC4sIEVR62H20aIaRjYMQ)  
> obligatory disclaimer that I'm not in STEM, my descriptions of engineering processes are but artistic renditions, and I've restructured the entire real life Rennteam Uni Stuttgart for my purposes. but my partner goes there (shoutout to the aero engies) and I have an emotional connection with the Vaihingen campus, so this is my casual tribute.
> 
> keep it lowkey, keep it off twitter and out of real life and away from the drivers. this is a work of fiction. thanks for reading! all kudos and comments are appreciated 💖

It’s 06:03 when the computer lab phone rings. Nico, dead-eyed, doesn’t look up. “Grab that, Lew?” he calls across the room. His workstation screen taunts him with the dancing, colour coded digital model of some car part he should know the name of. 

He absently registers a scuffle as Lewis scoots his office chair over to the door and grabs the phone off the hook. “Mm?”

"…"

“What the hell, man.” 

Nico looks up this time and turns to Lewis, who jerks his head at Nico.

“Here, you take this.” He scoots his chair away and holds the phone out at arm’s length. Nico drags himself across the room to grab it. 

“You got Nico.” He stifles a yawn into the receiver.

“Hey Nico.” 

“You got the moulds from Sebastian’s place yet?”

“No, we’re at the hospital.” The Finnish-accented German requires no introduction, and Valtteri doesn’t give one. 

That wasn’t part of the plan. The twist in Nico’s stomach might be from the two Monsters (and nothing else) he’s had since midnight, or it might be nerves. _“Shit._ What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Nico twitches on his feet, confined from pacing by the cord on the phone.

Valtteri’s tone is almost conversational. “I broke my wrist.”

“Oh my god, are you okay? What about Daniel? Where’s he?” Nico asks. His fingernails bite into his palm where he clenches his hand. 

“Right beside me; we’re at the Marienhospital. He’s fine.”

“Why isn’t _he_ on the phone?” Nico demands. “Jeez.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you.” Even over the phone, Valtteri’s pause is delicate. “He crashed your car.”

Nico slams that clenched fist into the closed door. “Holy fuck, man.”

Valtteri doesn’t reply.

“Lead with that next time. Don’t move.” Nico considers the handset in his grip for a minute before crashing it back onto the receiver. “Fuck you, Daniel,” he says to the dead call. He pivots to see his teammate watching him. “Close down, Lew. We’re going to the hospital.”

He knows Lewis wants to say something as the pair run for the Vaihingen campus S-Bahn station, but luckily for Lewis’s own preservation, he keeps his mouth shut. Nico is not in the mood for conversation, not in the mood for the blinding sunrise light streaming into his eyes, and he can’t even put on his sunglasses because his sunglasses are in _his crashed Audi,_ and here he is taking the train like—like some sort of student. 

Which he is. But that’s not the point. 

Lewis sits across from him, tapping his foot and trying to make too much soothing eye contact. Nico’s grateful for the respite every time an innocent commuter walks down the aisle of the near-empty car and shields him momentarily from the involuntary therapy. He has a headache, his composites crew leader is likely out of commission with a broken wrist, and the man who’s supposed to be _driving the fucking race car they’re trying to build_ just crashed a road car. Nico’s road car. 

It’s 06:12 on a Sunday morning in October, and the University of Stuttgart Formula Student team is having a bad start to the season. For the fourth year in a row.

* * *

Daniel and Valtteri are sitting, shoulder to shoulder, on a bench in a patch of sunlight in the hospital lobby. Daniel looks guilty. Valtteri looks—with the exception of a bright pink cast on his right arm—like he always does. 

Lewis has to jog to keep up with Nico as he blows through the double doors and stops dead in front of his convalescent team members. He can’t even look at Daniel, who fidgets and can’t look away himself. “What the hell happened?” Nico demands, in German. 

That means the question’s for Valtteri. “It was a rabbit,” he says simply, looking altogether too normal for a man who’s been awake for 23 hours, spent 19 of them in a suspiciously ventilated campus workshop, and just got into a car crash. “He ran in front of the car—” Valtteri demonstrates, his pink cast the car and his left hand walking through the air— “and Daniel had to swerve away to not hit him.”

“Did he get away?” Lewis asks pleasantly, appearing at Nico’s shoulder.

Valtteri nods. “Yeah, we hit a tree instead.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nico bursts, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “Fuck the rabbit. How’s my car? Where is it?” He sees Daniel shift uncomfortably from the corner of his eye and has to look away before he does something stupid. That absolute _moron._

“It’s... off the road.”

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Nico seethes, taking a step back. He balls his fists uselessly and finally levels a look at Daniel, who shrinks. “You don’t _swerve for animals,_ my god. They’ll get out of the way for you, if you try to move you get into fucking _reckless crashes_ and—” 

“It was an accident,” Valtteri says, this time in English, and Daniel sags beside him.

Daniel doesn’t have the German to follow anyway, but Nico can’t be arsed to include him in this conversation by speaking English. 

“It was idiotic,” he says, decisive. Nico turns to Lewis. “What were Susie’s lap times at the kart tryouts?”

“What?”

“We need another driver, we need to replace him.” Nico digs in his back pocket for his notepad. “If we get Susie in the seat we can to change the monocoque measurements because she’s shorter, I’ll be the tallest driver, which is helpful, so we can recalculate weight and—” He flips through the dog-eared pages too fast, knowing he’s rambling when Lewis cuts in, but he doesn’t care. 

“You’re not kicking Daniel off the team, dumbass. He’s our best driver.”

“A _best driver_ wouldn’t crash a fucking road car for a little bunny! He broke, look, he broke Valtteri’s wrist too and now who can do the lamination as well as—”

“I have two hands,” Valtteri says, at the same time that Daniel finally says, “It was an accident,” in English, his voice hollow. 

Nico ignores him. Lewis looks at Daniel and looks away. 

“I don’t blame him for my wrist,” Valtteri says to Nico.

Nico jams the little notebook back in his pocket, takes a deep breath. “He’s out. I know you brought him to the team, Valtteri, but he’s out.”

“Nico, you’re the captain but I’m going to veto that. I’m going to veto that so hard. Under no circumstances are you kicking out Daniel,” Lewis says, stepping closer and gripping Nico's shoulder. He gives his friend a shake. 

“He’s right here, you know,” Valtteri says faintly, under the tones of Lewis’s decree.

Nico shoves Lewis' hand away. “Is this my team or not?” he demands, throwing his hands into the air. He exhales, fast and angry, knowing he’s letting the situation unravel, but tipped too far over by tiredness and frustration to care. It’s _his_ hill to die on. He shoots a look at Valtteri (still) and Daniel (still twitchy). “Excuse us for a second.” He points Lewis out the doors for an emergency executives meeting.

“You can’t kick out a team member for _not killing a rabbit,”_ Lewis picks up, squinting into the sunlight on his face. 

“I’ll check the fucking rule book.”

“You can’t. Look, you’re rich as hell, man, if your insurance doesn’t help you then your dad will.”

Nico bristles, despite the truth of the statements. “Not the damn point. That was my car, Lewis. My _car._ You know what that means to me,” he says, suddenly wanting to tear up, too. He drags a hand across his face and through his hair. “Shit.”

“The _Audi_ is your car. The team car is not your car. It’s _our_ car,” Lewis persists. “If he crashed Hulk’s car you wouldn’t care; you’re just mad because—”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

“Okay, that was stupid. But—” Lewis bumps his shoulder against Nico. “Remember last year. We’re not doing that again.”

Nico deflates, looking down at his shoes. He lines up his toes along a crack in the paving before looking up at Lewis again. “Pulling no punches today, huh?”

“Never with you, man.”

They go back inside. 

“You’re not off the team,” Lewis announces to Daniel, in English. 

“We didn’t decide that!” Nico scolds Lewis, in German.

“You are maybe not off the team,” Valtteri murmurs to Daniel, in English.

“Is Nico trying to kick me off the team?”

Daniel receives contradicting answers, in multiple languages.

“I’m really sorry,” Daniel starts, beginning to stand up. Nico points a finger at him.

“Sit back down.”

He sits.

“Wait, were you going to Seb’s place or on the way back when you crashed?” Lewis asks, his brow suddenly furrowing. He’s not speaking English either.

"Going, not at the Vettels’ yet," Valtteri clarifies, and Lewis exhales in relief.

"See, no harm done," he says, too brightly. “The moulds weren’t in the car.”

The look Nico levels at him is hateful. “We’ve still lost a day’s work. Sebastian will have to bring the parts on Monday himself.”

Lewis shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket and finally shrugs. “Whatever, then. Take the day off. Let’s get back to campus, hash it out, then get the hell to sleep. This is ridiculous.”

Charles is in the team lab when they get back to campus, infuriatingly perky for the hour of—Nico checks his watch—07:48 on a Sunday morning. Lewis must have texted him to show up for support, because he arrived with a massive thermos of coffee and a hot chocolate for himself. 

Nico downs a cup of surprisingly decent coffee, which sits awfully on an empty stomach already twisted by stress, and carefully faceplants at his desk. “We have problems, guys.”

“Do Daniel and I need to be here or can we go?” Valtteri asks. Even he’s beginning to look worn by the day. 

“Daniel needs to stay so I can run him through the tablesaw in the workshop,” Nico says bluntly, into the table. “You’re good, go home.”

Daniel coughs, clearly only picking up his name. Nico looks up at him, clasps his hands behind his head and leans back in his chair, expressionless. He doesn’t elaborate.

“Let’s go, man,” Valtteri mutters in English, nudging Daniel. “I’m not translating that.”

Nico buries his face in his arms again as the two exit, leaving the delicate tap of Charles’s Macbook keyboard as the only noise in the room.

Lewis speaks again. “Well?”

“Fine.” Nico turns his head to crack open an eye. “I’m never sending two sleep-deprived international students out at 4 AM in my own car for an unauthorised parts pickup again.”

“I’ll say.”

“But I’m not letting that crazy off the hook.” He closes his eyes again, and is asleep at his desk in minutes.

* * *

Daniel and Valtteri are lucky enough to live in campus residence, like most international students at the university. After crossing campus they’re back in their shared room, and Valtteri falls into his bed, looking with distaste at the encumberment of his cast. 

“I’m going to have a bad time,” he announces. Daniel winces in sympathy, and Valtteri must notice, because he hastily adds, “but it’s not because you.”

“It is, a little bit, isn’t it? I’ve screwed over everyone, and I don’t know if I’ll get to fix it up,” Daniel says glumly, sitting on his own bed opposite. “I’ve crashed cars before.” He snorts, and Valtteri laughs. As a kid in Australia, Daniel did amateur karting and racing all his life. Valtteri knows this, which is why he connected Daniel with the Formula Student team in the first place. “But this one’s Nico’s and it’s like—” 

Daniel knows how to shake off the mental side of a crash, but this one is a _real life_ crash. He already feels like enough of a leech in the FS team, sidelined from the car build by his lack of engineering knowledge, but wrecking a road car takes it to a whole new level. “I wanna fix it because I know I can do better but if they kick me off the team then like, where’s my redemption arc? I’m not saying I _deserve_ one but you and I both know I can do better, right, like I’m the man for the team, but if Lewis and Nico don’t want me—hell, they couldn’t even talk to me and I know that was on purpose—” He cuts off, because he can tell from the side-eye that he’s lost Valtteri.

“Nico scares me a bit,” Valtteri concedes. “But he’s a good boss? Leader. He might be okay. Sleep now,” he says, rolling over and ending the conversation. 

They don’t talk much as roommates, anyway. At least Valtteri doesn’t, but mostly because he speaks Finnish and German, while his English is weak. Daniel’s supposed to know German—he’s been studying here for a year already—but so far he’s just gotten _really good_ at learning how to survive _without_ German. Embarrassingly good. Tragically monolingual, he can usually press someone into service as a translator, but if someone wants him excluded, nothing can help that. 

Daniel makes instant oatmeal in the microwave and eats it silently before getting into bed. Neither of the roommates wake up until it’s dark outside.

* * *

Nico Rosberg isn’t new to the Formula Student team. He’s been a part-time volunteer for the last three years, two as an undergrad, and the last as a master's student. As lead driver last year, he led the team on track to a very narrow loss as a second-place finish—a strong recovery from the team’s streak of bad losses since the last win in 2016, but still bitter. The car the team had built was strong, and ultimately it was Nico’s own error as lead driver which cost them critical points. Previous admin had more faith in his administrative and engineering abilities though, which is why this year, he’s taken the full-time role as team captain.

Redemption is about learning from mistakes, which is why the crew—freshly assembled from Nico’s handpicked volunteers—had unanimously decided to widen their search for drivers. 

Enter Daniel. One of Nico’s freshest team additions, Valtteri (Production Engineering, third year, carbon fibre virtuoso) had casually mentioned his new roommate (Movement Science, second year, skills ???) had the background they were looking for, and Nico (Master’s in Mechanical Engineering, Crew Lead, Tired and Responsible) had called him in for an interview. 

Daniel was bouncy. Distractible. He didn’t understand German and didn’t even _know_ what NX was (design software, eternal, bringer of suffering), but he crushed everyone in the karting tryouts, and Nico had erased his own name from the top of the drivers sheet, and wrote in _Daniel Ricciardo,_ with marker. 

2021 is Nico’s re-do. He’s got Lewis at his right hand (Electrical Systems Officer, Electrical and Infotech master’s, Best Friend), he’s got a team of Formula Student virgins untainted by the horror of past years, and even if his Publicity and Admin guy (Charles, Tech Management, good with Instagram angles) is flirting outrageously with the oblivious Framing and PU lead (Sebastian, Auto and Engines Engineering, welding prodigy), he thinks they can win it this year. This is Uni Stuttgart, after all. Four time champions with a record to keep.

This is about the glory he can’t afford leave on the table.

* * *

The problem is, the path to the glory on the table is the high road, and Nico feels like it takes bigger shoes than his own to walk it. 

Daniel’s not off the team. Lewis didn’t _let_ Nico kick him off the team, so now Daniel’s hanging around the workspaces like he's leashed to Valtteri. Valtteri's broken wrist proves more awkward than he’d imagined, and Daniel’s eager to fill the role of the missing hand, as some sort of penance for his fratricidal bottlenecking of team capacity. 

It would be a touching circuitous absolution, sickeningly sweet, Nico comments snidely to Lewis, if only Nico could stand the sight of Daniel’s face. 

It turns out filing auto insurance claims involving wildlife isn’t that easy. Nico’s mood isn’t helped.

He’s standing in the doorway of one of the team workshops, watching as Sebastian and Valtteri hover over their protégés, Daniel and Pascal. They’re crowding around the central workbench, Valtteri hanging back and explaining, both loudly and futilely, how to use wax to seal the seams in the bodywork moulds (which Sebastian has _finally_ delivered onsite). The ventilator fans are on and some horrific white-boy rap is spewing from the radio, so Nico has to call for Valtteri twice before he’s heard.

“What’s he doing here?” Nico asks brusquely, once they’ve shut the door on the din.

The reply is all innocence. “Who?”

“You know. _Daniel._ He’s not trained for any of this.”

Valtteri shrugs dramatically. “I’m training him.”

“Do you really think you can trust him with that? This isn’t cheap, every piece goes in the cost report,” Nico says, letting his disapproval show on his face. 

“Our cost report is always shit, and besides, they’re prototypes.” Valtteri shrugs again. “We’d have to make them anyway and he might as well get good at this. Lewis said you won’t even let him in the lab to watch Susie do designs, so. We can’t let him rot.”

Nico hisses through his teeth. It does nothing to release the pressure in his chest. “I can absolutely let him rot.” He lowers his voice, even though there’s no one in the hallway. “I don’t want him here. You’re making him think he can stay, and he can’t. How good is he even with the materials, anyway?”

A pause. “He just started.” 

“Does he _listen?”_

“He would if he could understand me?” Valtteri says, tentatively adding, “...you’d do better helping him.”

Nico groans and tips his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. “This is so so stupid. I’d rather get _Charles_ with his hands on the car than try to make Daniel fit this team. He’s not going to _fit the team_ when all he does is fuck things up.”

Valtteri points through the glass pane in the door. “He looks like he’s fitting them just fine.”

Nico squints through the wire-enforced shop window. He does, grudgingly, have to admit things look fine. He turns back to Valtteri. “Look, just—what’s on your arm?”

Valtteri lifts his cast. “This.”

Nico grabs it. “No, _that.”_ He points to the marker drawings on the pink material.

Valtteri pulls his arm back, traces his fingers over the markings. “That’s a car, from Vettel. That’s the Australian flag, from Daniel. The dick is from him too. The cast is shiny because I let him laminate it for practice; it’s fibreglass and actually very tricky with the shapes? And I think he did a good job.” He offers his arm back to Nico, who just looks at it. 

He refuses to begin to consider this might be a losing battle. 

“God.” He pats Valtteri on the back. “Get back, before they fuck up anything else.”

He receives a solemn look before Valtteri disappears, opening the door just enough to slip back through. Nico turns around and sighs.

* * *

“You’re supposed to be _in my corner,_ man,” Nico pleads to Lewis, over leftover pasta in their apartment kitchen, the next week. 

“I’m in the team’s corner,” Lewis says, infuriatingly diplomatic. He spears a penne noodle and stirs it through the pesto in his bowl. “If you’re being too emotional then you need to let other people help.”

“I’m not _too emotional.”_ Nico bares his teeth. 

“Are you sure you’re the right person to be heading this up?” Lewis asks mildly.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Susie could step up if you need a break, that’s all.” Lewis finally puts down his fork. “Last year hit you hard, man. I don’t want to see that happen again.”

“It’s not _going to._ I need to do this, I need to do it myself. Susie can, she’s great, but this is for me. It’s not going to happen again.”

“That’s up to you.” 

Nico looks down at his plate. There’s an awkward, bitter pang in his throat, like if someone pokes him just right, he’ll start to cry. He’s cried in front of Lewis before— _best friends since first year_ means you see a lot of each other’s crap—but he tries not to cry about the team.

“It’s in your hands,” Lewis reiterates. “And I think worrying so much about the driving is too much for your hands.”

“So why are we keeping the person who makes me worry?” Nico demands. 

“That’s _not_ how you were supposed to take that. Live and let live, seriously.”

“Live and let live doesn’t win competitions,” he says crossly, stabbing a noodle. 

“Killing yourself over it now is a sure way to lose, though.” Lewis points his fork across the table. “You’re one step away from an intervention, I’ll call Claire in here next.”

“God.” Nico leans back in his chair with a huff. “Is this about dealing with Daniel, or is this about dealing with _me?”_

Lewis is quiet for a moment, takes a sip of water. “Kind of the same thing, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Mate, you are so obsessed with him.”

“‘Nico, you are just _obsessed_ with the guy who’s fucked your car and is running a mutiny through your whole damn campus team,’” Nico parrots. “Are you really surprised?”

“I’m just saying, he’s been rent free in your head for the last two weeks. And you don’t mean it’s a _mutiny,_ besides, Hulk hates him.”

“Nicos have taste,” he mutters.

“You are so goddamn uncharitable, Nico.”

“Just trying to keep tabs on my crew.” Nico gets up from the table to drop his dishes in the sink.

“Delegation, man. You should try it.”

“I’m already running a smaller crew than every other German school and you’re already the ELO, so maybe you’re talking out of your ass.” Nico opens a cupboard, rummages through it. “Maybe you’re just jealous and that’s why you want me to step down,” he says, over the noise of plastic crinkling. 

He emerges from the cupboard, Oreos in hand, and turns around. Lewis is just looking at him. “Okay, that was goddamn uncharitable of me.” Nico sits back down, opens the cookie packet. “I’m sorry, Lewis.”

Lewis pushes his empty bowl away and shrugs. “I wouldn’t take your role for a 70k job straight out of undergrad,” he half laughs. “I know you don’t mean it. But if we’re being mean, I think you’re the jealous one. You know Daniel’s not running a fucking mutiny, hell, he can’t even talk to everyone.” He twists open an Oreo and licks out the filling.

Nico looks away. “He doesn’t have to,” he mumbles.

“Exactly. And they still like him, and you’re upset about that, because they don’t have to like him but they do, he doesn’t even try. And they _have_ to like you and you have to grind for it.” He pauses. “I’d use the word _grovel_ but that doesn’t imply leadership.”

“He can’t come in and be charismatic all over my crew,” Nico says hotly. He says _charismatic_ like it’s a dirty word, and snaps an Oreo in half. Tiny crumbs burst across the cheap plastic tabletop. He corrals them with a fingertip.

Lewis is nonchalant. “He’s trying a little, admittedly.” 

“What?”

“For you, dummy. He’s trying to make _you_ like him.”

“That’s because I’m trying to kill him,” Nico says firmly, but Lewis’s words lodge in his mind. 

Has Daniel been trying? If he has, Nico hasn’t noticed, but it’s hard to notice while trying to ignore the existence of someone. He turns the thought over in his head.

Lewis takes another cookie. “Well, he obviously doesn’t want to die.”

“That’s not his decision,” Nico laughs. “I will be enacting my crew lead role to stage a public execution next.”

Lewis laughs at this too, and doesn’t say anything further. Probably thinks he’s made his point, Nico assumes.

Maybe he has made his point. At the very least, Nico’s more unsettled now. Unsettled but less anxious. 

Lewis jumps up. “And by the way, I grabbed the mail.” He stands on his toes to shuffle through the papers on the top of the fridge, and tosses a thin envelope at Nico. “Your insurance got back to you.”

He snatches the envelope and tears it open.


	2. ACT II

There’s almost always someone in the Formula Student workshop building. The team don’t have to work around class and exam schedules, and the project becomes central to its members’ lives. The significant commitment means only the most dedicated students can give the time—most crew members take a year off from official classes and exams to focus on the FS team. Pouring 80-hour weeks into the team is all-consuming, a wry pre-empting of the exploitation junior engineers usually encounter in their early careers. But they do it, and what’s more, they do it all for free. 

Not every other school runs their teams on the same system, but Nico prides himself on prioritising work-life balance in the Uni Stuttgart team—though the line between _balance_ and _rapidly spiraling into hell on a wave of caffeinated and/or intoxicated all-nighters_ is very thin. Perhaps even nonexistent.

Well, it’s not like Karlsruhe IT’s team ever won Formula Student. Hell, Uni Stuttgart even leads TU Delft by two wins. 

If it’s not broke, don’t fix it. 

It feels silly to talk of a legacy, but maybe, perhaps, Nico feels there’s one here. If not one he built, then one he’ll hold the torch for to pass it on.

But the building feels empty right now; he knows Susie’s working with some of the modeling team in the computer lab, but Lewis and the electrical crew are working in another building today, and Sebastian and Valtteri are paying a visit to some suits to beg for wind tunnel access. It’s mid-November and the holiday break is fast approaching, along with half a dozen looming deadlines.

Nico digs his access card from his pocket to tap on the electronic lock for the metalworking shop—which is where Sebastian probably left those lost working blueprints—but a green light on the door gives him pause. There’s already someone in there. He cautiously turns the door handle and peeks inside. 

The shoemaker’s children go barefoot and the hinges to the workshop door squeak. _No one ever notices when the vent fans are on,_ Nico realises. But they’re off right now, and startled, the person inside jumps as they hear Nico step into the doorway. 

It’s Daniel, rooting through a tool chest. He looks at Nico as if he’s just been shot, eyes wide as he takes a step back. Nico eyes him back, warily, and neither of them speak.

It’s strange to see him without Valtteri nearby. Nico’s not sure who drives the relationship, but the two roommates are rarely seen one without the other in the workshops. Sort of an odd possessiveness, Nico thinks, but it’s scarcely his place to interfere if anything is happening with that relationship.

“What’re you doing in here?” Nico finally asks, before repeating in English when he receives silence as an answer.

“Cleaning?” Daniel replies, cautious. He backs away from the tools, holding his hands out in front of him for a second. “Seb told me I could sort out the tool chests while the guys are away but like, I actually don’t know what anything is, so…” He trails off, and gives an apologetic half shrug. “I vacuumed a bit.”

“They shouldn’t leave you alone in here,” Nico says, annoyed. He flips on another light and closes the door as he steps into the room.

“I’m not breaking anything,” Daniel says humbly. “I was going to get help in a second anyway, I wanted to tidy the welding station but I’m not 100% on this system yet, so I was gonna get Pascal to show me.”

“Wehrlein’s busy in electrical,” Nico snaps. He looks around the room. “Everyone’s busy, they’ve got designated tasks or they _know enough_ to take the initiative.” He looks at Daniel, pointedly. 

Finally, Daniel looks him in the eye. “Do you want me to go?”

Nico’s _yes, please_ catches on his tongue. 

The FS team isn’t in the habit of kicking out any potential man hour that makes itself available. Three years of instinct formed through pain are ringing alarm bells in Nico’s head when he exhales, offering just a tiny shrug. 

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Take that as a ‘I don’t want to be the guy who turned down free labour,’” Nico grits out. 

Daniel grins. It’s tentative. “Thanks for the accommodation.”

Nico doesn’t smile back, just points Daniel to the welding station. “Okay, so…”

He’s a quick learner, at least. Nico finds Daniel more likely to be hesitant than assuming, but admittedly that’s likely to cause less trouble here.

They don’t talk beyond Nico’s shared instructions until Daniel speaks.

“Can I ask about your car?” he asks, cautious. 

“...I guess.”

There’s a silence.

“Are you going to ask or not?”

Daniel shakes out his cleaning rag and leans against a stack of materials. _“Okay,_ Nico. How’s your car?”

Nico pauses his work for a moment. “Well.” He tilts his head. “Insurance will cover the repairs, for sure. I thought it’d be a fucking write-off but it’s in the shop right now.” 

“That’s good,” Daniel says a little hollowly. “I’m sorry. Again.” He rubs his neck. “But you knew that.”

Nico gets back to work. “The real pain in the ass will be replacing all the aftermarket bits I’ve put in there. Spent a few years assembling it and I think they might be back to square one after Audi guts it for the rebuild.” He forces himself to shrug. “It’s not strictly necessary, though. I guess it’s kind of stupid. I’ve got another car to work on these days.”

“But no, that’s the fun part, isn’t it?” Daniel appeals. “I mean, I’m not good with—” he gestures around the workshop— “whatever this is—”

Nico bristles.

“—but road cars are different. It’s not really your car if you aren’t feeling it,” he says mildly. 

Nico just looks at him. 

“I’ll help you,” Daniel offers. He looks at Nico hopefully. “Sweeten the deal a little.”

“‘cause you’re the guy I want working on my car,” snipes Nico, but there isn’t much bite in his tone. 

Daniel grins sheepishly. “Well, you’re at least talking to me in English now, so I thought I could push my luck.” 

“I don’t even have the car back yet.” Nico jerks his head toward the workbench again. “Anyway. Get after it, now.”

* * *

“Alright, I’m not staging the intervention,” Lewis says. He’s leaning back in his computer chair, feet kicked up on the lab desk. He hasn’t opened his eyes for the last three minutes.

“I’m getting off early for good behaviour?” Nico jokes. He takes a pull from his water bottle and looks across the table at Lewis.

“You’ve progressed from comments about the chopsaw to straight up ignoring Mr. Ricciardo, so that’s good enough for now.”

“God, I was right,” Nico grumbles. “This _is_ about the kid.”

“Hey now,” Lewis reminds him, “you were mad that I was trying to help _you_ last time.”

Nico waves a hand at the unseeing Lewis. “Different route to a same point. Besides.” He leans forward, drums fingertips on the desk. “I’m not ignoring him; apparently Sebastian told him to clean up the metalwork shop yesterday, so I had to step in before anything broke and I’d have to have an embarrassing talk with Claire.”

At this Lewis cracks open an eye. “How was he?”

“Too damn friendly,” Nico offers. He takes another sip of water to fill the silence. “He asked about the car.”

“And what’d you tell him?”

“Why are we focusing on him so much?” Nico complains, in the same breath continuing, “He literally told me he can help me with the mods when I get it back. Can you believe it?”

“Yes,” Lewis says drily. He sits up straight and crosses his legs. “I can absolutely believe it. He’s _like that.”_

“So tone deaf, I swear.”

“But you’re taking the offer.”

“What?”

“You should let him help you, man.”

“My god, Lewis. He’s not touching my car again.”

“How long’s it gonna take you to get her all set up again?”

Nico sags. “I’m not thinking about that, maybe I’ll get it done over Christmas break?”

“If you want to throw your own time down the drain, go for it, but I’m going to call it stupid,” Lewis shrugs. “He tunes cars with his dad back home and you’re going to pass up his help?” He stands up, grabs his water bottle as he turns to leave. “I’ve gotta go, meeting with Susie’s crew at 4.”

“How come everyone knows everything about him except me?” Nico complains to his back. Well—Valtteri’s knowledge goes without saying. But Lewis knowing _backstory_ to Daniel is another case, and he’s scarcely the only team member to cover the topic so casually.

Lewis pauses in the door. “He’s surprisingly talkative if you don’t look like you want his head on a platter.” 

He disappears, and Nico slouches in his chair, crossing his arms. “I _don’t_ want his head on a platter,” he mutters to himself. _“God.”_

* * *

December on campus is a balancing act of the most depressing weather and the all-pervasive social attempt to counter it with the promise of Christmas’ approach.

“How did you not go to _any_ Christmas markets in first year?” Valtteri asks Daniel bluntly. 

They’re walking home to their res from the team building, and it’s only early evening for once, but Nico had soundly kicked them all out of the building for being “too depressing” and “unproductive,” claiming that 15:30 sunset was no excuse for lacklustre behaviour when they could just go out for the night for some “team time” and “revitalisation.” Valtteri had halfheartedly argued that early sunsets didn’t affect him, but when faced with the prospect of glühwein, hadn’t argued too hard at all. 

Daniel shrugs. “I didn’t do much in first year besides sit on campus.”

“Doesn’t sound like you.”

Daniel pauses. “No, it doesn’t.” 

“It’s okay, you’re at least going out this year.”

Kicking a pile of brown leaves by the curb, Daniel asks, “It’s not going to snow here, is it?”

“Probably not. It’s just ugly and rainy.”

Daniel sighs. 

“It’s more nice at home,” Valtteri adds.

“It’s _summer_ back home.”

Valtteri laughs, and a moment later, Daniel does too. 

They’re headed to the Christmas market in Stuttgart, which is, as Daniel understands, some sort of necessary initiation rite to being a _proper German._ After bundling up against the cold evening, they take the train into the city with Sebastian, Charles, and Pascal, who promptly scatter in search of Lewis and Nico as soon as they reach the market. Unluckily, Lewis appears at Daniel’s elbow as soon as the others disappear from sight.

Daniel’s happy to attach himself to Lewis, the nearest native English speaker. Soon they’re comfortably almost buzzed on the holiday’s staple mulled wine, and they fall into easy conversation. Not that it’s ever hard to talk to him—Daniel’s found Lewis as easygoing as Nico is uptight. 

The two of them make a formidable team lead, less a good-cop-bad-cop running patter than a long-married couple constantly referring their protégés to ask the other for the final confirmation on anything. They rein each other in and challenge each other to their limits, and it’s easy to tell why Claire, the team’s faculty advisor, greenlit the pair to lead the crew. 

Daniel doesn’t think they ever get eight hours of sleep between the two of them. 

And if he’s honest, he’s happy for selfish reasons that for some reason, Lewis has taken his side. Just—in general. Apparently it was Lewis who actually talked Nico into letting Daniel help with the Audi rebuild, though Nico had never admitted it or explained his change of heart. 

He and Nico had spent a few awkward, silent afternoons working on the car, re-fitting the old mods and adding a few new ones. It was comfortable to be capable for once, knowing the tools in his hands and offering Nico silently-accepted tips here and there. Daniel missed the sense of competence—it had been a long time since he felt solid ground under his feet. Installing an aftermarket exhaust on the very car he’d wrecked was an odd place to find it, but at the end of the day, he wasn’t about to overthink his one blessing.

The Audi was still haunted with the combination of the new-car smell from the rebuild, mixed with the distinctive singed tang of the airbags, but it _looked_ good. It looked right. Nico had closed his hand around the keys and something had shifted in his eyes, a pinched, tense filter falling from his face. He’d exhaled, and finally grinned.

“She’s back,” he said proudly, before his eyes flickered to Daniel’s face. Daniel had tried to look away.

“That’s what matters, nah?”

“Thanks, man,” Nico had said, just casually enough to be suspicious. Daniel looked up from his shoes. 

“‘s just what I owe you,” he’d said, and the unreadable squint on Nico’s face is still branded into his memory now.

Now his hands are cold, despite the glühwein he clutches, and he wiggles his toes in his Blundstones to warm them up. He’s standing in the middle of a fairy-light illuminated square, and most of the team have scattered on the pretense of Christmas shopping. Holiday music drifts over from somewhere across the square, cut through with foreign conversation from the surrounding crowds. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Sebastian and Charles at knitwear vendor’s stall, Charles determinedly fitting a docile Seb with a pair of mittens. 

Daniel can’t help feeling a spot of sentimentality—the scene’s closer to a postcard Christmas than anything he’s experienced back home in the southern hemisphere. But it’s also damp and cold, and Perth is further away than ever.

Almost as if on cue, Lewis beside him asks, “What’re your holiday plans? You’re not flying all the way home to Australia, are you?” 

Daniel grins. “Nah, I’d like to but it’s almost not worth it for a two-week visit. I’d barely get un-jetlagged before it’d be time to come back. I’m going to Finland with Valtteri.”

“My god,” Lewis says, involuntarily. “He’s going to make you swim in the ice lakes, isn’t he?”

They both shoot a look at Valtteri, who’s utterly zoned out of the English conversation happening right beside him.

“He probably is,” Daniel says grimly, “but I can’t pussy out of it if he tries.”

“Bet you wish he still had that cast on, then he’d be at least a little out of commission.”

“I’m pretty sure you can still use a sauna if you have a cast, so I’d be screwed either way.” Daniel shrugs, resigned to his probable fate. “But he said we could go ski-dooing now that it’s off, so there’s that.”

Lewis pounds him on the back. “Good luck with that, then. We need you both back alive in January, so I’d tell you to watch out for him if I didn’t know that’s useless. I’d tell him the same but that’s also useless.”

“What’s useless?” Nico demands, appearing from behind and pushing his way between the two of them.

“Danny here’s going home with Val for Christmas,” Lewis says. 

“Meeting the parents, huh?” Nico asks glibly, taking a gulp of his drink.

Daniel blinks. _What?_

“They’re probably going to kill themselves doing some _winter sport,_ and their frozen bodies won’t get dug out of the ice until June,” Lewis, the harbinger, forebodes.

Nico leans back into Lewis’s arm, eyeing Daniel. “Yeah, for sure. I can see it.”

“Val’s not the type you’d expect to go for extreme sports,” Lewis says, “but I guess you never know with the Finns. Roomed with one first-year. _So_ fuckin’ weird, man.”

“Bring my composites crew lead back alive,” Nico demands, “although you can stay in the ice if you want.”

“They’ll excavate you after the next ice age and have an Oscar-winning film worthy adventure trying to trace the story of the Iced Australian. Try to preserve your DNA intact somehow,” Lewis adds. 

“Then who’s going to drive the car in July?” Daniel wonders out loud.

“Shit. Don’t talk about work,” Nico groans, and wrinkles his nose. “It’s too late to enter the driverless categories, isn’t it?”

“Susie would kill us all if we scrapped her team designs and told her to get on those neural networks instead,” Lewis says glumly.

“Yeah, then you come back too,” Nico says easily, and Daniel doesn’t have anything to say back to that. 

* * *

“If I’ve gone and come back from Finland, am I still allowed to call this fucking cold?” Daniel asks, blowing on his frozen fingers and pressing them to his cheeks. It’s frigid on the roof of the Formula Student workshops building, only two stories tall but subject to a stiff breeze in the cool late January evening. Beside him, Charles is wrapped up in an elegant trench coat and wool scarf, but his hands are bare too as he delicately clutches a camera. From time to time he brings it to his face, carefully focuses and snaps a photo of the scene in the parking lot below them. 

The disorganisation below is a compelling reason to perch on the roof instead of joining the fray. Daniel swings his feet from his seat on the roof’s edge, heels thudding rhythmically against the building’s side. 

“Impact attenuator testing,” Sebastian had explained, as though that meant something to Daniel. 

“Testing the car frame for safety in crashes,” Charles had translated.

“So you don’t become a pancake if you hit something,” Valtteri had added the practical application. He’d flexed the fingers of his right hand. 

There’s an early iteration of the FS car’s engine, combined with Nico’s incoherent mutterings about drive-by-wire, which have culminated in a temporary collaboration with another student club to run remote-controlled crash tests. 

“It’s that a bit overboard?” Daniel had carefully asked Lewis. “If you’ve already run the tests in the labs, isn’t the data… you already know it, right?”

“It’s Stuttgart,” Lewis said, as if that was an explanation. “We do overboard here.”

They’ve run late, and Daniel’s been shooed away from ground zero for his own sake. Charles’ pity-invite to “help” with media had culminated in this perch and a now-cold paper cup of hot chocolate, but at least he’s being included. It’s better than sitting alone in the library, working on those endless charts for his anatomy class. And Charles is _fun._ Daniel has no idea how this Monegasque boy wonder ended up at a tech-focused school in Germany, but he’s tragically gullible, generous to a fault, and his German’s pretty shit too. But while Daniel is shy to use his rookie language skills, Charles isn’t, just unfurling easy smiles every time he messes up and Sebastian laughs.

He lives as though there’s a camera on him, even though he’s usually the one turning it on others. Daniel kind of likes that. 

“Look,” Charles insists, punching his arm. Daniel snaps out of his reverie. Charles points. “They’re going again.”

There’s a huddle of bodies springing away from the car, the sputter of a starting engine growl, a blue and white blur and Daniel’s useless yet sympathetic wince at the point of impact. Slowly, then all at once, the huddle of bodies reconverges. 

Charles lowers his camera. 

“This is the last fun thing for me for a while,” he announces to no one in particular. “They’re going to be processing the data and then handing me the informations, then I have to write the impact attenuations report,” he says, miserably. 

“Why you?” Daniel asks.

Charles dramatically sips his also-cold hot chocolate. “Engineers. They don’t write,” he sighs. “They see one arts student and shift the workload. To be honest,” he confides, uselessly lowering his voice, “I think Valtteri literally cannot write.”

Daniel thinks for a moment. “No way, I’ve seen him writing, he has piles of notebooks on his desk.”

“Numbers, probably. He’s good at maths, no?” 

Charles looks so long-suffering that Daniel can’t help the words that come out of his mouth next. “I’ll help you,” he says suddenly. “I’m not the best writer but I’m not an engineer either.”

“They don’t need you in the workshops?” Charles asks, perking up.

Daniel snorts, falling backward to lie on the flat roof with his arms behind his head. It’s a clear night, but few stars make it through the urban light pollution. “They never _needed_ me in there. Nico’s dying to kick me out. We’re moving more to the engine now, and electrical systems, so Valtteri can’t pretend to let me help anymore. I hate working alone in my dorm though, so if I can hang out with _you_ then I get to stay around here,” he explains, looking at Charles with bright eyes. 

Charles twists around and takes a photo of him. “Perfect then. They can’t kick you out if you’re doing a job they are scared of themselves,” he says, and a smug little smile plays on his face. “Although, to be honest, I would be shocked if Nico still wants you gone.”

“Huh?”

“Sebastian told me—”

Daniel grunts, and Charles swats him and continues. 

_“Sebastian_ told me he showed Nico some of your welding and Nico said it was good. And Seb asked _really_ and Nico even _laughed_ and said, he said and I am literally quoting this, literally— _I want to be surprised but I’m not,_ and Seb said he guesses more sparks are flying and Nico hit him with the notebook.” Charles stops, smug. “You know the notebook.”

Daniel doesn’t say anything.

* * *

Despite his good intentions, Daniel can’t help Charles as easily as he’d hoped. As one of the only team members enrolled in classes, he has to write exams during the winter session and is thus scarce around the FS building during February.

Nico, against his own will, notices this. 

He notices, when he comes into the metalwork shop one afternoon and Daniel’s _there,_ and Nico realises he hasn’t seen him for a few days. The frame crew are busy with re-adjustments now that the crash test data is in, and somehow despite wearing Valtteri’s welding helmet, it’s obviously Daniel’s ass in those jeans. Nico tries to ignore how he instantly knew that.

Daniel looks up when Nico comes in, and flips up his face shield. “Hey,” he says—the usual silly grin on his face.

“Working hard?”

“I heard you like my welding,” Daniel says, a disarming amount of hope in his voice. 

Nico, despite himself, grins back. 

He notices, when he comes into the FS building’s mini-kitchen one evening past midnight, and Charles is plastered to one wall while Daniel stands on his toes on the countertop, holding a cup to the ceiling.

_“Nico,”_ Charles greets him urgently, “tell him to kill it, I am literally begging you.”

“Kill _what?”_ Nico demands. He looks up at Daniel.

Daniel grins down at the team captain, almost losing his balance. “I’m trying to save this spider, I need a piece of paper and Charlie won’t help. Pass me your notebook?”

Nico looks at Charles, then back to Daniel, and despite himself, reaches for his pocket.

He notices, when he stumbles into the surfaces workshop one morning at five to seven and sees Daniel leaning over the workbench, cracking a wing component out of its mould with careful hands and a chisel.

“You good with that?” Nico asks, his voice rough with tiredness.

Daniel jumps. “Seb showed me how to do this,” he says defensively.

“I’m not going to bite your head off, mate,” Nico says mildly, closing the door behind him and moving to Daniel’s side. He shoots a sidelong look at the novice, takes in the messy hair and shadows on his face. “Jeez, did you sleep?”

“A little, I’ve got a final this afternoon but I thought if I came early and started prep on the wings for Hulk then later Pascal wouldn’t have to—”

“Gimme that,” Nico says, grabbing the chisel from Daniel’s hand. He resumes work on the mould where Daniel stopped.

“I wasn’t—”

Nico waves a hand. “I’m not worried about this, it’s a prototype. You’re too tired to write an exam. Go home, wake up Valtteri and send him in.”

Daniel doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move away from Nico’s arm pressing against his own, and yawns. He momentarily tips his head to rest on Nico’s shoulder, seems to realise what he’s done, and picks it up again.

Nico, despite himself, doesn’t pull back.

He _notices,_ when he comes into the computer lab at 01:49 on a Saturday morning and Daniel Ricciardo is sitting at an empty table with his laptop, haplessly flipping through printouts from the drop test analytics. 

The other side of the room is noisy, Hulk and Susie’s crews arguing over some details about the rear wing prototype’s performance in the simulations, and everyone’s clearly a few beers into what’s probably going to be an all-nighter of dubious productivity. It is, technically, Friday night. And what is Formula Student, but an all-encompassing social scene? The crew Nico was just helping in Electrical wasn’t operating under any prohibition either. 

Nico bypasses the scrimmage to snag his laptop and another beer from a side table, and sets up opposite Daniel, who shifts his papers when he sees Nico approaching his table. 

“You’re here late,” Nico comments, cracking open his drink. With an impressive display of willpower, he boots up his laptop.

“One hellhole to another,” Daniel replies, raking a hand through his curls and flopping back in his seat. “Exams all done, so I think Charles’ll have me shackled to the laptop until the report deadline.”

“I’d take offense to the hellhole comparison, but I think everyone would make it.” 

“Not going to kick my ass out when I’m the one doing the dirty job here?” Daniel asks hopefully, and the readiness with which he literally _giggles_ speaks to his own state of sobriety, or absence thereof.

Well, apparently the literature students say _write drunk, edit sober,_ so there’s no reason why Daniel can’t do the same. “Progress,” Nico grins back, through not without a sudden stinging remembrance of his anger, thrown into sharp relief by the creeping realisation that that anger is so _old_ at this point.

“At least you speak English to me now.”

“You ever gonna learn German though?”

“Eventually,” Daniel replies, cheekily adding, “If only for the sex appeal.”

“Shame about Valtteri and the Finnish, then,” Nico says distractedly, chuckling. His programs are booting _intolerably_ slowly.

Daniel looks up. “What?”

“Valtteri?” Nico looks up, too.

“What _about_ Valtteri?”

Nico blinks a few times, realisation hitting him. “Nothing about Valtteri,” he says slowly. “Nothing at all.

Daniel shuts his laptop, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. He cradles his chin in his hands and looks straight at Nico. “There’s… nothing about Valtteri. He’s… really straight.”

There’s a pause. 

“Oh,” Nico says, finally nodding. “For sure. Super straight.”

“Did you think…?” 

The look on Daniel’s face is simultaneously puzzled and delighted, and Nico can feel himself flushing. “It would be a stretch to say I _thought,”_ he admits, also leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I assumed.”

“How?”

“You… you do everything together, you went to Finland, you—you wear his _welding helmet,”_ Nico blusters, becoming more aware with each point that he’s making no sense.

“I literally introduced him to his girlfriend,” Daniel says. 

“For sure,” Nico replies, nodding before he starts. “Wait. He has a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, she’s in my program.”

“How does he have the time?” Nico demands, incredulous. 

Daniel shrugs. “I guess it’s hard. He’s always here.”

“He’s always with _you,”_ Nico complains, “and I’m in a year long relationship with a car that doesn’t want to do anything for me.” 

“I guess it’s easier to date someone on the team.”

“And you have to be able to consider a 6AM test session a date.” 

“We’ll be having some 6AM test sessions soon, won’t we?” Daniel asks, not breaking eye contact.

“Next month,” Nico says slowly, shutting his own laptop. “We’ll get in there—in the car. Work out the kinks, share feedback.” He leans back in his chair, rubs his face. “God. I can’t believe I thought you and Valtteri—I can’t believe I told you I thought—”

“I don’t crush on straight guys. Anymore.”

Nico winces, then laughs. “God. Yeah.” He leans forward, folds his arms on the table and pillows his head on them. He peeks up at Daniel anyway. Who’s still watching him. “You wanna come with me to a 6AM test session sometime next month?” he asks, his voice muffled in his sleeves. 

Daniel drops his hands to the table, curls his fingers in each other. “Isn’t that… moving a bit fast? Last I heard the only place you wanted to take me was through the tablesaw,” he teases.

“I’m not mad at you anymore,” says Nico, with the honesty of a tired, inebriated 22 year old in the middle of mentally reconstructing his team dynamics. Erasing the concept of a relationship he hadn’t even realised was itching at him. It’s as though a vaguely irritating t-shirt tag has been snipped off, and its absence leaves him blinking, even as his shoulders relax. “But I still feel funny when you’re around,” he admits, stuffing his face back into his arms, his voice even more muffled. 

He feels fingertips poking at his sleeves and looks up again, to see Daniel reaching across the table and tugging lightly at his hoodie cuffs. “You’re tired, man,” Nico offers dully, neither pulling away or reaching out. 

Daniel shrugs, and smiles minutely. He hooks two fingers in Nico’s cuff and Nico lets him. “It’s okay. Funny _how?”_

“Funny like you crashed my car and don’t ever know what you’re doing here, but I notice when you’re gone because it’s nicer when you’re here?” Nico explains, with no urgency but neither any adroitness. 

Daniel replies after a minute, still playing with Nico’s cuff, fingertips brushing over his wrist now and then. Daniel’s hands are cold, he _is_ tired. “Nicer, huh?”

They both seem to notice at once that the lab’s gone silent and has been for several minutes, only the electric buzz of overhead fluorescents and the damning yet pacifying hum of CPU fans filling the room. 

Nico turns in his seat, throwing a paternally disappointed glower at the entirety of the aero and simulation crews, who are, with no subtlety, watching the scene.

“Get to work or go to bed,” Nico calls across the room to them, more mildly than he would were it any more reasonable time of day. His hand finds Daniel’s, and he grasps cold fingers in his own before turning his back on the recreant sub-crews again. Somewhere, behind, Susie cackles and a morose chatter picks up again. 

“Nicer, yeah,” he says easily, more easily than he should. He haphazardly laces his fingers through Daniel’s and nonchalantly squeezes his hand. “I’m not straight, in case you want to have a crush on me,” he grins at Daniel, who just throws a laugh back at him.

“I _know.”_

“But you have to come to the car test sessions either way,” Nico says mock-seriously, leaning forward again. 

Daniel licks his lips.

“...do I have to wait that long?”

“...do you not want to?”

* * *

March is still scarf weather, and turtleneck sweaters are a regular part of Nico’s wardrobe, so it doesn’t matter that Daniel’s toothy with his kisses.

Nico’s shower is much nicer than any in the uni residences. Daniel finds this out, much sooner than he expects, and Nico doesn’t mind sharing.

Valtteri _does_ mind walking in on the two of them in the dorm when he comes home after a long day in the metalwork shop, so they try not to bother him too much. 

Besides, Nico has a perfectly good bed in his own flat, almost too good for how little sleep he gets, so there’s no harm in the way Daniel will tuck them both in at 3AM after a hard day and a slow fuck. It’s practically charity, on his part.

They _try_ not to mess around in the workshop building, but if Nico ever emerges from the washroom after a long disappearance with his hair suspiciously mussed, no one mentions it. 

And if Daniel somehow gets off on having his face fucked in the backseat of the very car he’s crashed, Nico isn’t complaining about it. 

It turns out, even if you’re not exactly _dating_ a certain someone on the Formula Student team, it’s still easier to fuck _them_ than make time to hook up with—civilians, for lack of a better word. 

It’s working, sort of. They’re having fun. 

No one’s taking anything too seriously. 

Nico tries not to entertain the possibility of that changing. He has a car to build. Daniel is, foremost, a crew member.

It’s already a big step to admit that. 

* * *

And then by mid-March, the car comes together. It’s not perfect, but the bodywork looks good, Lewis’s crew are satisfied that the electrical system will neither kill nor maim, the first iteration of the aero is fitted on—and the impact attenuator data report is finally finished, so the team are ready to run testing. 

The sky is barely light when the crew are due at the testing site. It’s 06:30, and the chill in the air makes Daniel’s hands stiff, as he and Valtteri slowly walk across campus. Daniel shivers, his arms too laden with his race suit and helmet to jam his hands in his jacket pockets. Valtteri isn't even _wearing_ a jacket. 

“Are you excited?” Valtteri asks, with an air of resigned obligation. He looks up at Daniel, who shrugs. 

“I don’t know what to expect, it’s been a while since I put a race suit on,” he admits. “I just hope I pick up the details you expect me to.”

“Mm,” Valtteri says, and Daniel has no idea how much he’s following. “You’ll be good.”

“Hope so.”

“Nico likes you now, so no problems.” The words are simple, but the long-suffering look in Valtteri’s eye speaks to a man who’s seen far more than he ever wanted to.

Daniel bites his lip to hold back a snort. “I’ll say.”

“Say what?” Valtteri asks, confused.

“Oh, just that I agree.”

The team are only running in an empty parking lot today, sectioned off for the very first car tests. Later they’ll have to book a track day at a karting place for more accurate data, but for now, a layout of pylons will do. 

A skeleton crew is present, mostly the sub-crew leaders. Sebastian showed up early to get the car on-site, and most of the others are clustered around the team van, spilling parts and tools out the open back doors. 

Charles is as perky as ever, his arms full of mini traffic cones as he runs around the parking lot, laying them out into a semblance of a track that matches the sketch he clutches in one hand. It must be the endless hot chocolate powering him, Daniel realises wryly. He wonders what’s in it, besides the obvious sugar content.

Charles scampers back over to Sebastian, who’s sitting on top of a toolbox and holding Charles’s camera for once. Daniel wanders over to them, notices Seb’s wearing the mittens from the Christmas market.

Waving the circuit sketch in their faces, Charles asks, “Is it good, Seb? Does it match the plans?”

Seb grabs one of the spare traffic cones and perches it on Charles’s head. “Over there,” he points to the far end of the circuit, “those around turn 9 are not lined up.”

With an huff of exasperation, Charles transfers the cone from his head to Sebastian’s and jogs off.

“There’s nothing wrong with them,” Nico says mildly, appearing at Sebastian’s other side. He catches Daniel’s eye and smiles casually, too casually.

“I know,” Sebastian says, smiling beatifically. He adjusts the cone on his head. “But he’d be disappointed if I didn’t say anything. How are you feeling, anyway?”

Daniel shrugs. “No idea what to expect, just gonna go out there and have some fun, see what feedback I can give.”

“We don’t do fun around here,” Sebastian says cheerfully. “Nico will get on your ass if you’re having too much fun.”

Daniel bites down on an unseemly laugh as as Nico glares down at Sebastian.

“Hey, I—”

“Nose to the grindstone,” Sebastian says with a brisk nod, ignoring Nico. He nods, the traffic cone on his head bobbing. “He’ll put you in the car first as the guinea pig.”

Nico crosses his arms. “Daniel.”

“Yes?” Their eyes meet over Sebastian’s oblivious head.

“Would you _like_ to drive the car first?”

“There’s no chance I was letting you get to,” Daniel snipes, then dodges a swat from the sheaf of papers in Nico’s hand.

He doesn’t know what an FS car’s _supposed_ to feel like, but “good” would be a stretch for this one. It’s fast. It’s got loads of understeer and the brakes don’t feel good, but it goes, and after a few warm-up laps Daniel’s got an understanding of the handling, and goes for a few push laps. As much as that can be said about a car with a top speed just touching the triple digits in KPH. 

It’s different from karting, obviously, different from his mates’ cars he’d drive on track days back home, but the way he settles _into_ the car is thrilling in and of itself. It’s a baby formula car, homemade, perfect for a childhood daydream that never aged up with its dreamer. It’s not much speed, but the atmospherics are giving him enough to _pretend._

He pulls over and and drags his helmet off after a few hot laps. “The tires aren’t giving me what I want,” he says finally, after he climbs out, “but it’s March, and temps shouldn’t be a problem like this in July.” Regardless, he can’t stop grinning. The car may not feel great but _he_ does, reminded of just how familiar it feels to be driving again. He had no idea how much he missed it. 

He leans over Lewis’s shoulder to peek at the lap times on his clipboard. “Are those good?” he asks.

Lewis shrugs. “I think they look super promising based on last year, but we can’t tell until Nico gives us the comparison.”

Nico’s standing by, fidgeting with the velcro on the collar of his race suit. It’s mismatched to Daniel’s, looks more well-worn but fits him like it was tailor made. It clings in all the right places, and when Daniel catches the look in Nico’s eye, it’s clear that he knows this. Daniel bites the inside of his lip and grins back.

Nico cradles his helmet in his arms—it’s glossy, a custom design with his name and the German colours on it. 

Daniel had his parents ship his race gear from home, and it’s also worn in but it’s familiar right down to every grease smudge. 

“Right, no more _gazing,”_ Lewis interrupts, rattling the clipboard. “Nico, Claire gave me notes from last year that said there was the initial issue with the switch-off procedure—”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll try to replicate it and see if there’s the same fault.” Nico jams his helmet on his head and walks over to the car. 

Daniel definitely doesn’t _not_ look at his ass.

“No more gazing,” Lewis repeats, without conviction.

Nico’s run isn’t—it’s not _catastrophic._ It’s not good, though. He’s clearly struggling with the same issues as Daniel did, running wide in the corners and even crunching a few cones. Daniel watches as Nico tries a few short stints, regularly checking in trackside with Sebastian and Hulk. It’s a while before he climbs out of the car entirely.

“What’s wrong, man?” Lewis asks, raising an eyebrow as Nico slouches over to them. 

“I couldn’t get the balance right,” Nico says, his forehead creasing. He grabs the clipboard from Lewis’s hand and flips through the notes and graphs, turning away. 

“It’s just the first test,” Sebastian reminds him, appearing at their side. “It’s only March, we have so much time to get it right.”

“It’s not—it’s—” Nico falters, then shrugs. “It’s the first test. I know we can fix it up. It’s just—”

Lewis hesitates for a second, looks as though he wants to speak, then doesn’t. A second later he says lowly, “Forget about last year, okay?” He catches Daniel’s eye but the look he gives is so perplexing that Daniel can only step away.

He has no idea what they’re talking about. Pascal, Valtteri, and Hulk are crouched around the car, checking it out between runs, so he moves over to join them. 

Nico and Daniel trade stints in the car for the better part of two hours, and by the time Daniel undoes the collar of his race overalls and strips it off his shoulders, he’s almost sweating. Sunlight has burned off the chill in the air and campus has started to wake up. 

He stretches, rolling his neck carefully. “What’s up after we pack up?” he asks Nico.

Nico’s just pulled off his helmet, his temples damp with sweat and his long, golden hair only more tousled as he runs a hand through it. (It’s great. Nico’s hair makes Daniel feel very specific yet unnamed emotions, which he tries his best not to feel when he sees the way it curls at the tips and brushes against Nico’s cheek when it’s not tucked determinedly behind his ears. But it’s still great.) “I’m making everyone take the day off,” he says, turning around and repeating that, with volume, to the crew. “We’re ahead of schedule, and we need time to think before we start tearing apart the car again.”

“What about you?” Daniel asks.

Nico fidgets with the visor on his helmet. “I’ve got to look at the data. Some things don’t feel great. But home for a shower first,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “I’m gross.”

“Oh, you mind if I come with?” Daniel asks casually, hopeful. “You know—how gross the res showers are, it’s…”

Nico pauses, half turned away. A second later, he nods. 

They’re in the Audi and Nico doesn’t turn on the radio, his grip firm on the steering wheel as they leave campus. 

“Well…” Daniel begins, breaking the silence, “‘s good to get in the car.”

Nico nods.

“I thought it was a good start,” Daniel continues.

Nico hums, seemingly in agreement.

Daniel laughs a little. “I thought it felt good to get inside a race car again; can’t really replicate that feeling.”

“You were born into it, weren’t you,” Nico says suddenly.

Daniel nods. “It’s just in the family. Just for fun, but hard to leave.”

“Mm.”

He’s clearly preoccupied with something and Daniel doesn’t want to disturb that. He digs his phone from his backpack, and ends up on Instagram scrolling through a feed he’s neglected for the past weeks. They’ve all been so busy, but apparently _last night_ Sebastian had time to play Settlers of Catan with Charles. Charles’s path of miserable reluctance to incredulous engagement to incensed competitive passion are catalogued via Instagram story, and his meltdown is punctuated with superzoom filters on Sebastian’s laughter at his expense.

Daniel never took Charles for the board game type, and he turns out to have been right. Sebastian, on the other hand, is absolutely the type. 

When they reach Nico’s place, Daniel hesitates in the doorway. 

“You should probably take some time off too,” he says, but Nico waves him off. 

“We need ideas for tomorrow, we need solutions. That’s on me.” He kicks his shoes off and folds himself into a kitchen chair, his notebook in hand. 

It’s both comforting and irritating to watch him cling to it. 

“Go clean up,” Nico says shortly, not looking up. 

“You were posting notices on the work Discord at 2 this morning,” Daniel says, pointedly. “You’re literally running on four hours of sleep, man. You’re not going to find any ideas like this.”

“Lewis is still on campus.”

“Lewis took off early yesterday,” Daniel reminds him.

“Are you here to talk or what?” Nico demands, sitting up and twisting around to look at Daniel, where he still stands with his backpack in his hands.

“I’m just—”

Nico points down the hall. “Go. Shower and we’ll—we’ll talk after.”

Feeling not unlike a sulky dog, Daniel grabs a towel from the hall closet and stalks into the bathroom.

Nico’s shower is as nice as it always is, but Daniel scarcely pays attention to the luxuries of consistent water pressure and an unclogged drain. He runs through the laps in his head as water pours over him, absently counting corners as he works conditioner through his hair. (It’s Lewis’s—Nico’s conditioner isn’t silicone free.) When he’s rinsing off he notices his hip is sore; the seat fit must have been tighter than he realised in the moment. He hopes it doesn’t bruise. He’ll tell Sebastian tomorrow.

The towel is warm and fluffy when he wraps himself in it, and he draws a smiley face in the fog on the mirror, and signs it with his initials. 

“It’s all yours,” he calls down the hall when he steps out of the bathroom, followed by a cloud of steam that smells suspiciously coconutty. 

“Mm.” Nico’s voice is quiet. “You can hang out in my room.”

It’s a nice room, almost sterile in its neatness. The tidy state speaks to someone who was raised with nice interior design, and who’s barely around to use it, anyway. The bedding is _white,_ and it’s _clean,_ and Daniel doesn’t think he knows any other university student both daring and fastidious enough to attempt that feat. Even the clothes tossed on the desk chair are folded and draped over the chair’s back. 

Daniel pulls on his own clean shirt and digs through Nico’s closet for a pair of sweatpants, forgoing the jeans he wore earlier. He’ll ask for forgiveness if he needs to, but right now he’s tired. Morning light filters through the white curtains and Daniel perches himself on the end of the bed, catching a glimpse of his reflection in a mirror by the closet. He looks fatigued too, looks like he doesn’t know what he’s doing here, in this room too nice to be sat in. He hears the shower start to run.

He finds himself back on Instagram, but there’s nothing new, so the phone falls from his hand as he falls back on the bed, heels kicking idly at the bedframe as he stares at the ceiling. His towel soaks dampness into his lap, where it’s crumpled, but he doesn’t move it. 

It should feel strange to be in Nico’s space without him, but this doesn’t even feel like it’s where Nico belongs. He belongs in the computer lab at 9PM on a Wednesday night, an Edding tucked behind his ear as he frowns at another simulation data sheet that makes no sense. He belongs in the metalwork shop, trying and failing to handle Sebastian’s devilry while Charles hovers with a camera. He belongs in the misused backseat of his Audi, limbs wrapped around Daniel’s in the awkward space but wearing an impish smile anyway. 

This bed is Nico’s but it doesn’t feel like he’s ever slept a night alone in it.

Daniel wonders how many nights Nico’s dozed off at his desk in the computer lab.

Daniel wonders when that started mattering to him.

Shadows play on the wall as the curtains shift. 

The door opens and Nico comes in, Daniel flinching from his drowsy state and scrambling to prop himself up on his elbows. There’s a silent raised eyebrow at the stolen sweatpants before Nico drops his own towel—with an easy confidence Daniel watches for more reasons than the obvious—and rummages in the closet for clothes of his own. He still doesn’t speak. 

“Feel better now?” Daniel asks, when Nico turns around, wearing boxers and a white t-shirt. It’s as though he’s dressing to fit the room. 

Nico gives a half-shrug, moving to the end of the bed where he gently but deliberately grabs Daniel’s knee where his legs dangle off the mattress, and parts his legs purposefully to step closer, slotting himself between Daniel’s thighs. 

“Thanks for the shower,” Daniel says, sitting up, facing Nico too closely now, but not as closely as he wants to be. “But I missed you in there,” he adds, cocking his head. 

This feels like a game they’ve played before, Daniel knows he’s not stepping over any lines but the austerity on Nico’s face almost makes him doubt that. 

“What’s up?” he asks, pulling back in concern, even as he moves his hands to cover Nico’s where they still grip his thighs. 

“Get up on the bed,” Nico says with a jerk of his chin, in lieu of an answer. 

“Okay,” Daniel replies, confused, but compliant. He clambers up the bed to settle on his back against the pillows—more pillows than any struggling student has the right to, but again, no complaints—before Nico follows, scrambling after and nearly collapsing onto Daniel, who pulls him close so their bodies are flush. He makes no protest when Daniel immediately wraps a leg around his hips to keep him close, but shifts, moving one hand to Daniel’s jaw and angling just so before he finally ducks close for a kiss. 

He wants Nico to say something. But it can wait, maybe he’s just tired, they’re both tired and probably too relaxed after cleaning up, and it feels so good to accept a tight embrace and a soft bed and Nico’s exploratory kisses.

“This okay?” Nico asks muzzily, his face buried against Daniel’s neck. Daniel nods enthusiastically, before almost yelping at the bite he receives.

“Shit,” he hisses, laughing shakily. He tugs at Nico’s shirt, slipping his hands beneath the hem and up the hot expanse of Nico’s back, pulling the man closer to himself. Nico arches into the touch. “I like you right here,” Daniel murmurs, snug beneath a familiar bodyweight. “Right here,” he repeats, punctuating his words with the scrape of fingernails along Nico’s shoulder blades.

“Shut up,” Nico says fussily, pulling back a little to look down at Daniel. “Don’t—I don’t want it like that right now,” he bites out, sitting up entirely and yanking at Daniel’s shirt now. 

“What do you mean?” Daniel asks, even as he takes the hint and pulls off his shirt. Nico does the same and Daniel’s gaze drops to his chest once, twice, before meeting his eyes again. This Nico is new to him, tense and fretful where he’s usually animated and easily in control. 

He tries to focus on the dawning realisation that something’s _wrong,_ but suddenly Nico’s all over him again, shoving Daniel’s legs out of the way to climb fully on top and straddle his hips instead, and Daniel’s mind blanks under the control and the sudden, deliberate pressure of Nico grinding against his cock. 

Daniel _wants this_ but he doesn’t feel like he should. He can’t ignore the itchy thought, even as Nico leans in again, that this isn’t the right thing to be doing right now, even as his fingers thread involuntarily through Nico’s hair and his mouth falls open against the press of Nico’s lips.

Nico whines, uncharacteristically needling, and his fingernails dig into Daniel’s shoulders. The sting wakes him up, and he pulls back from Nico’s grasp with a start.

“I need to know what you _want,”_ Daniel insists, untangling his fingers from Nico’s hair. He moves his hands to Nico’s arms instead, gently gripping his heated skin before wrapping his arms fully around him.

Nico buries his face in the crook of Daniel’s neck, and doesn’t move. “I want—I want—” He seems incapable of finishing his statement, his body stiff in Daniel’s arms but refusing to pull away.

Daniel starts to freeze up underneath him. As though the tension in Nico’s body is contagious, he lays there in paralysis for a moment before squeezing Nico’s arm. 

“No rush,” he says, but there’s a tightness in his throat that chokes the words as he speaks them.

Nico suddenly shivers and Daniel doesn’t move. “What’s wrong? What’s _wrong,_ man?”

“I’m really making a fool of myself here,” Nico says finally, but he doesn’t pick up his head.

Daniel twists, shifting Nico in his arms and awkwardly looking down at him. He was right, this isn’t about the sex, he realises. The validation of correctness doesn’t ease him at all. “I think you’re doing fine,” he says, the words stinging in his throat. His hand finds the nape of Nico’s neck again, and he tangles his fingers in golden hair again. But he’s out of his depth; if only Nico would _talk._

Nico feels brittle where Daniel holds him, and it’s with a twist in his stomach that Daniel realises Nico’s face is wet with tears, and his shoulders shake with mute sobs.

_“Nico,”_ he starts, trying to pull away and sit up, but pinned down. 

“I shouldn’t be here,” Nico says with a rattling inhale, turning his head away. “I have no idea what I’m doing and it’s all getting to my fucking head, you know?” he rambles, and his voice breaks. “You’re a _good_ driver, Daniel,” he says, looking up briefly and taking a deep breath. But it doesn’t help stabilise him at all, and he buries his face in Daniel’s shoulder again. “And I’m a shitty crew lead,” he continues, muffled, “and today it just felt like I’m going to screw over the whole team again.”

“You’re not,” Daniel replies instantly, honestly, helplessly. He rubs his hand in slow circles on Nico’s shoulder. “You’re _not.”_

Nico chokes out a tearful laugh, which turns into a shudder. “I got so angry today and that’s the last place I want to be,” he says, voice watery. “I’m so _tired_ and I have so much to _worry_ about, and my brain’s about to just explode one day. I have to do this,” he confesses, stifling another sob against Daniel’s skin, “but when I’m not in control I just lose it even more, like this shitty positive feedback loop,” he says with another choked laugh, “and my energy just—” he sniffs— “goes in all the wrong directions.”

The next words from Nico’s mouth drive a knife through Daniel’s gut. “I don’t want to be angry at you,” he says, the anguish is clear in his voice. 

“Were you… were you angry at me _all this time?”_ Daniel’s hand stills on Nico’s skin, and there must be a catch in his voice which Nico latches on to. 

_“No,”_ he insists, “please don’t say that. Don’t think that,” he begs, and Daniel lets out a shaky breath.

“No?”

“I haven’t been angry for so long, not for months and months,” Nico says, his voice cracking. “I—I like you, Daniel, I’m just stupid, and—and petty. Today’s the ugliest part of me.”

Daniel bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut. “I like you too, Nico.” It feels like it shouldn’t mean anything to say, but the only weight on his chest right now is the man he just confessed to.

They’re silent for a moment, Nico still trembling, before he clears his throat and speaks again, whispering his words into the stillness of the room.

“If I fuck up again this year I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Can I ask what happened last year?” Daniel asks, tentative.

“Can I tell you another time?” Nico says, finally lifting his head and turning over, so the two of them lay shoulder to shoulder. He tugs listlessly at the blanket beneath them, and shivers.

Daniel turns his head to look at him, takes in red eyes and blotchy skin. He reaches for Nico’s hand anyway. Nico stares at the ceiling. 

“You’re overthinking everything,” 

“I don’t want to take it out on you,” Nico says softly. “That wouldn’t be right for—for the team.”

“For the team,” Daniel repeats then laughs, but he’s gentle. “That’s exactly why you’re a good team leader, man.”

“But I got so upset with the testing today, it feels like I’m not in control anymore,” Nico says, reluctant. He finally reciprocates the grip Daniel has on his hand, threading their fingers together, and takes a deep breath.

“Lewis said you’re just too much in your head when you drive,” Daniel says, tossing against the blankets to turn and press his cheek against Nico’s shoulder.

Nico unglamorously sniffs, and squeezes Daniel’s hand. “Driving is a different role from everything else. You have to pretend there’s nothing else on your plate. Like it’s the only role you’re doing.”

“Well.” Daniel nudges Nico’s shoulder and experimentally bites it. Nico flinches, but doesn’t pull away, and lets Daniel place a kiss on the same spot. Daniel clears his throat. “It’s the only role _I’m_ doing.”

“Superhero,” Nico comments with faux-reverence, and they both laugh. “C’mere,” he says, tugging Daniel close into a hug. He’s warm, and the kisses he presses to Daniel’s jawline make it feel as though nothing is wrong.

“You need water,” Daniel says after a quiet minute. “And kleenex; you got snot all over me,” he points out. 

Nico chokes out another laugh and grabs a tissue from the nightstand. "Not what I'm usually wiping off your chest in bed, huh."

Daniel grins, closing his eyes. "Later, please. First, a nap."

Nico drops a kiss on Daniel's cheek. "First we nap," he agrees. 

* * *

April days are blessed with longer daylight hours, and the team uses every moment of them. The morning light keeps everyone livelier as they put the car through runs with iterations of aero, designed and simulated by Susie and Hulk’s crews. Valtteri’s glad to have the use of both his hands back, because he needs them both to make, remake, and fine-tune the components he and the composites crew spend all hours matching to the aero crew’s designs. Nico hovers, flitting from workshop to workshop with notes in hand. Charles is everywhere at once, pulling together sponsor events and campus marketing meetings. Daniel drives the car. 

It’s starting to feel better now; somehow the electrical crew have translated vague rants about oversteer into a more tactile, responsive experience. Daniel is undeniably the better driver on the team. He can’t explain it, it’s the gains found in the very fractions of seconds one can’t fake an understanding for. There’s nothing _wrong_ when Nico’s in the cockpit, but Daniel’s times speak for themselves. They both know it, biting their lips when they look at the timesheets, but Nico laughs it off and Daniel follows suit, and Lewis’s relief hits with the tangibility of a cold shower. They do a wet run one morning after rain, and it’s the most visceral incident both Daniel and Nico have had in the car yet—delightfully alive in their hands. Nico’s deep sigh of relief holds the stress of months. Daniel blinks slowly, and begins to understand _why._

“I am literally losing my mind here,” Charles says calmly, in between phone calls. He’s perched on the kitchenette countertop, clipboard in one hand and hot chocolate in the other. Nico looks up from the microwave and the mesmerising rotations of the plate of lentil soup within. 

“What’s up?” he asks. “I thought you handled the meeting with Liebherr amazingly.”

Charles briefly preens under Nico’s grin before turning solemn again. “I know, thank you.” He sips his hot chocolate. “The sponsors are so very nice, I think they like seeing results so early.”

“Wouldn’t see anything if you weren’t there taking photos,” Nico shrugs. “I pity the crew lead next year, when they have to find a publicity manager who _isn’t_ you.” 

“You are too nice to me, I’m just trying to make us all look like we know what’s happening,” Charles demurs, but his eyes are bright. 

The microwave beeps and Nico pulls out his food, briefly burning his finger. _“Ouch,”_ he says, and sticks the injured digit in his mouth. 

“Actually, Nico,” Charles starts, swinging his legs from where he perches. “I wasn’t going to ask about this, because I did not want to be nosy. But since I decided to be nosy anyway. What’s going on with you and Daniel?”

Nico blinks. “Me and _Daniel?”_

///

At the same time, Daniel’s in the surfaces workshop, wet-sanding a rear wing with Valtteri and Sebastian, when Valtteri’s phone rings. 

Valtteri dries his hands and checks it. “Sorry, guys,” he says in English, for Daniel’s benefit. “It’s Emilia. One minute.” He leaves the workshop.

Sebastian waits approximately half a second after Valtteri disappears before he says, “They’re cute, don’t you think?”

Daniel shrugs, grinning. “They’re pretty alright, if I can say so myself.” 

“I want that guy’s time management,” Sebastian says with a sigh. “I don’t know how he manages to do it.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Daniel confides. He pauses a moment before continuing. “But you and Charles aren’t so bad, yourselves. I mean, it’s more impressive to me if I look at—”

///

“—your relationship,” Charles says. “To do that inside the team cannot be the easiest thing, right?”

Nico blinks again, and nods. "I don't really know what to call it, a relationship is a big word, but… you know?"

Charles cocks his head. “You obviously have—”

///

“—something going on, right?” Daniel prods.

Sebastian looks down at his shoes, and shrugs. After a moment he looks up and speaks. “It would be nice to, yeah.”

“Why are you kidding yourself? He obviously—”

///

“—likes you,” Charles insists, nodding vigorously. “You would have to be blind not to see it.”

Nico laughs. “Oh, for sure. I see it, we both see it.”

“So why is your hesitation?”

“Hm.” Nico takes a bite of food before answering. “It’s hard to know if I should…” 

///

“...act on what I’m feeling when we’re here for another reason, right?” Sebastian argues. “The priority is obviously the car, and I don’t want people to think I’m distracted from our real goal.”

Daniel nods, shrugs, then nods again. “What do you think _Charles_ thinks?”

“God.” Sebastian groans. “I don’t know if he’s just into me because…“

///

“…I’m around all the time and it’s convenient.” Nico looks up; Charles is biting his lip. “If we weren’t both around all the time, do I know he’d want to be with me?”

“So you want to be with him, that is what I am hearing,” Charles says, grinning with the satisfaction of validation.

“I mean.” Nico shrugs. “I know how _I_ feel. But that’s only ever half of it, right?”

“What’s he said to you—”

///

“—about what he feels? _Exactly?”_ Daniel asks. He raises his eyebrows.

Sebastian grins, looking at his shoes again. “Not much, honestly. But he spends a lot of time with me, even when he shouldn’t.”

“Fucking _Settlers of Catan,”_ Daniel says, with no little awe. “Who else could make Chuck Leclerc do _board game night?”_

“Every Monday, if we can,” Sebastian adds, sheepish. 

Daniel snorts. “Sounds like a proposal to me.”

“Well, it doesn’t change that we’re still in the team, and I don’t want to upset anyone by making them think I’m slacking off.”

“Trust me, mate—”

///

“—everyone can see you’re working so very hard. They would be idiots to judge you,” Charles insists, leaning forward.

Nico licks his lips. “I just…”

“I’m absolutely sure of it,” Charles continues. 

“I want to be a good example.”

Charles hums. “I know it’s very hard to envision right now, but one day this year will be over,” he says, his face splitting into a laugh at his own joke. It shouldn’t be a joke, but within the eternal confines of the Formula Student building, it certainly feels like one. “So you have to ask yourself, after the car is done and you have collected all your trophies and come home—”

///

“—how would you feel if he didn’t stick around with you?” Daniel asks, looking straight at Sebastian. He licks his lips, waiting.

“Like shit,” Sebastian says, crossing his arms. “I like… I like having him around. It would be easier if he wasn’t but—there would be something missing, you know? And—”

///

“—I don’t really care much for _easy,_ if you can’t tell yet,” Nico laughs. 

“That is another one of your problems,” Charles says. “Some things are allowed to be easy, and you have to let them be.”

Nico blushes, thinking about how _easy_ the physical half of the relationship has been. But for the other heartfelt half, he’s clinging to the memory of a whispered _I like you_ and the way Daniel will sometimes smile into a kiss. 

“So I guess the next thing I do is…”

“Worry less,” Charles says instantly, “and—”

///

“—tell him what you want, if you really want it,” Daniel says. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and I know if you’re with Charles then Nico wouldn’t get upset about it. He’s a good team leader.”

Sebastian nods slowly. “At the end of the day, I think I want—”

///

“—this to be more than just a convenience thing, for sure,” Nico admits.

“We will all understand,” Charles says graciously. “No one on the team will be angry to see it. It’s already good to see you don’t hate him now.”

Nico sends a mock glare toward Charles before his face scrunches in laughter. “In my defence, I had a proper reason. In my defence. And it was a long time ago now.”

“Now you really like him, and it is only hard to see you—”

///

“—pretending that you don’t,” Daniel points out. “So don’t leave us all hanging here,” he grins. 

Sebastian smiles back, and tips his head back to look at the ceiling. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

“You deserve to be happy if you think you can be,” Daniel says. “And I just want—”

///

“—to see the obvious conclusions here,” Charles says, raising an eyebrow. His drink is cold by now.

“Well,” Nico admits, “I can try—”

///

“—to make that happen,” Sebastian says.

“Alrighty,” Daniel smiles. “Then get out there—”

///

“—and get the boy,” Charles concludes. He drinks the dregs of the cold hot chocolate anyway.

Nico drops his empty dishes in the sink and gives Charles a lopsided smile.

“I’ll keep you posted.”


	3. ACT III WOULD GO HERE BUT IT WAS NEVER ABOUT THE CAR

“I swear,” Charles complains, “after this year I am going to leave the ugliest review of this car team anyone has ever seen.” He tosses a sheaf of papers across the room; they fan out in midair from the staple securing them and tumble to the middle of the floor. Nico, standing in the doorway of the computer lab, looks at them. So does Charles. 

“I am not picking those up,” Charles says, turning in his chair to ignore the discarded sheets and focus on his computer screen again. “You get them. I am already writing my skinny _ass_ off for you. I’m telling Claire to next year be sure there are people who can write a report and you do not make me and my one volunteer assistant do it.”

Nico takes a sip of coffee, leans against the doorframe.

“You had better watch out or I am going to kiss Daniel for being more helpful to me than anyone else in this horrible building,” Charles continues, with vehemence, speaking over the rattle of his keyboard. “Do you know? How many reports? Valtteri keeps giving me paper after paper of notes, and what am I supposed to do? Engineering design report. Spec sheet.” He squints at the spreadsheet onscreen. “Cost report! And then all the legal papers about the competition, and no one has showed me copies of their passports yet. Which, them, I need or no one is going to Silverstone at all. Next year, more business students please. And I cannot read Valtteri’s handwriting, but also? I cannot read Sebastian’s either, or Lewis’s. I will not stand to hear one more bad thing about an arts student again.” He rests his head in a hand and looks at Nico from the corner of his eye. “If you want to argue, write it in a report of your own and I can maybe read it.”

Nico just smiles.

“Engineers.” Charles wrinkles his nose.

“Stop pretending you’re in arts,” Nico says. “You’re literally a STEM student. A MINTs student, as it goes here.”

“Yet I do not _mince_ words, like you,” Charles says, wrinkling his nose in vicious glee at his decidedly terrible joke. “A different and special STEM student,” Charles sniffs. “And do you want these reports in by the deadlines or _no?”_

Nico drains his coffee cup. “For sure. Please and thanks, Charlie. You’re running this clown show, but please don’t kiss Daniel.”

“We will _see_ about that.” Charles turns back to his screen. “Oh, please thank Seb for the hot chocolate. He has finally memorised my recipe.”

* * *

Despite misgivings, most of the reports are submitted in time and Charles’s next frenzy is assembling a vehicle status video to qualify for competition entry. It’s June, just a month before the car’s completion, when the team will have to pack up and ship the vehicle to Silverstone for the competition. 

Thankfully F0711-16, as the car’s named, has behaved near perfectly so far. Almost all the initial running issues have been scrutinised, addressed, rescrutinited, nearly ad nauseam, and the payoff is visible in the timing sheets. 

Charles slots in a shoot of Daniel and Nico before the status video shoot. Now in matching race suits, posing with the car, they staunchly refuse to hold hands but Charles coos over the photos anyway. “Smile a little _less,_ Nico,” he directs, “you do not look real. Or smile more in the office, I don’t care. Move your knee a little, lean in. Daniel, stay just like that. If you smile less everyone will worry.”

Click.

Charles posts the cutest one on the team Instagram. The car is shot in profile and the two drivers sit on the ground, snugly tucked between the tires on the side facing the camera. It’s a pose that could be described as leaning against each other, but that’s up for interpretation. The way the aforementioned drivers are _looking_ at each other is not.

“Isn’t this queerbaiting?” Daniel asks, looking up from his phone later, after eight different people DM the post to him.

“You think TU Delft has ever had drivers this soft?” Sebastian wonders, when Charles shoves a phone under his nose.

“What does the—” Lewis starts, before Nico cuts him off.

“The rulebook doesn’t say anything about this,” Nico says. 

“Wasn’t going to ask,” Lewis lies. 

Daniel sends the post to his sister in Australia, but doesn’t add any context. 

The status video is less artistic, serving only as proof to the competition organisers that the car designed can run and meets safety spec. The team wrap up filming in one afternoon. “So we’re this much closer to being done,” Nico says, that evening. “There’s not much more to do right now until we sort out the issue with suspension, so if you want to take off, go ahead.”

“You should take a break too,” Sebastian argues, “Hulk and Pascal will deal with it, you can’t really contribute much there, no offense.”

“No,” Nico shakes his head, “I want to follow what they’re doing so I need to be there. But you go, you don’t need to come around until tomorrow.” 

Sebastian crosses his arms. “The competition is in less than a month; you have to start adjusting back to reality sometime soon. Be normal. Breathe sometimes.”

Nico laughs in his face. “We’re in engineering. This _is_ reality.” He sighs. “It’s Monday; go make Charles play Risk. Send photos in the Discord when he loses.” He stalks off, but doesn’t bang the door when he leaves.

It’s 01:30 by the time the issue is resolved, and when Nico heads for the kitchenette to scrounge for food, he’s surprised to hear noise in the computer labs. He pokes his head through the doorway. “Daniel? It’s super late, you don’t have to be here.”

Daniel, sitting on the floor in a corner, looks up from his laptop. “Oh, jeepers.” He glances back down at the screen. “It’s later than I thought. I wanted to wait for you, and I told Charles I could finish the cost report for him.”

“You didn’t have to wait,” Nico says, softening. He should have told Daniel to go home, too. “Why are you on the floor?”

Daniel shrugs. “For a change. I submitted the report an hour ago and I’ve just been watching shit. Do you want pizza?” He nods at a box beside him, which Nico hadn’t noticed yet. “I have two pieces left and I don’t want to take them home.”

“Oh god, I’m starving.” 

Daniel nudges the box across the floor and Nico joins him, sliding down the wall to sit at his side. “What’re you watching?”

“Just old X Games highlights.”

They watch more highlights as Nico eats, Daniel commentating now and then. The rare quiet in the room is almost uncomfortable, but Nico doesn’t mind. Daniel is warm against his shoulder and it helps to stave off the late-night chills.

“You’re going home now, right?” Daniel asks, once Nico’s brushing crumbs off his hands into the empty box. 

Nico shrugs. “Sure, there’s no point in an all-nighter now.” He stands up, stretches.

Daniel looks up. “I’m coming with,” he says, snapping the laptop shut and scrambling to his feet. “If you’ve got time.”

“Yeah, come over,” Nico says, lighting up. “You don’t have class tomorrow morning, right?”

They throw out the pizza box, and once out in the parking lot, Nico digs in his pocket. There are no car keys. “Oh, shit,” he swears, then laughs. “I forgot Sebastian gave me a lift this morning. We’ll have to take the S-Bahn back to the city to get home.”

But Nico doesn’t steer them toward the station; when he takes Daniel’s hand and sets off at a run, they head toward the office and lecture hall high rises in the centre of campus. The night air is cool but Daniel’s hand is hot in his own, and by the time they melt into the shadow of the buildings, Nico is warm with exertion. 

“Okay, do you want to do this the fun way or the legal way?” he asks, and looks up the building’s side, where it’s striped with balconies and fire escapes.

“I’m assuming this isn’t what you mean by going home,” Daniel comments, taking a second to catch his breath.

“Not yet,” Nico says, distracted with pulling out his wallet. He slides out his student card. “I was a TA last semester, so I had to run seminars in this building. Still have key access to every door and classroom here, if you want to go in, but—”

“Let’s go to the roof,” Daniel suggests, nodding up toward it.

Nico grins. “Perfect.”

Dodging light spilled from first-floor windows, Nico climbs a gate and then a ladder, and it’s a big jump to bridge a gap between building wings, Daniel following in the shadows and steering clear of the ledge of the first floor, but as soon as they breach the fire escape system it’s a clean run to the top, though on the sixth floor Nico pauses to look out over the campus.

He leans his arms on the balustrade and peers over the edge. Daniel appears at his side, but resolutely squeezes his eyes shut. “If I look down I think I’ll hurl,” he says in a strained voice, but laughs anyway.

“Not a fan of heights, then?” Nico asks, turning away from the view and pulling Daniel with him. 

Daniel opens his eyes. “Not straight over the edge, nah.”

“Right, then keep your eyes shut a second longer; you’ll need to look away in a second,” Nico grins. 

It’s a leap from the top of the fire escape, several floors higher, to hook fingertips over the actual roof ledge, and Nico hauls himself up with a practiced ease he’s not keen to explain. The rooftop gravel crunches under his feet as he stands up, and kneels at the edge to look down at Daniel. 

“Do that,” he says, “and don’t look down. Just up.”

Daniel grimaces at him, sizes up the jump, and leaps. Nico clasps his hand and pulls him over the ledge and he flops down there, lying on his back and looking up at Nico.

“No looking down now, huh?”

“Let’s get you away from the edge,” Nico suggests with a nod, and they settle on the northeast corner of the roof, with the distant view of the city below. It’s quiet, but for the rattle of the idle HVAC system, and Nico’s footsteps scuff until he sits down, legs crossed. Daniel settles beside him.

“So… do you come here often?” Daniel starts, then laughs.

“Not recently, no. Obviously,” Nico says drily. He glances at Daniel. “More in my undergrad, when I knew what free time was.”

Daniel picks up a handful of gravel and lets it drop back to the rooftop surface. “You signed up for a lot this year, I don’t know many people who could have done that.”

“I don’t know. I knew what I was getting into,” Nico says. He half shrugs. “But it’s been really hard. I watched the last three team leaders, and it never looked this hard for _Jenson Button.”_

“Jenson?”

“Yeah, he was the lead in my first year with the team. He got hired by McLaren right after he graduated,” Nico says, not without reverence. How can he explain Jenson Button? “I liked him and he made it all look easy. I guess that’s why I kept coming back.”

“And then…”

“Claire thought I could do it. And I guess she was right, since we’ve come this far.”

“But we still need to win,” Daniel says, almost under his breath.

“We still need to win,” Nico echoes. “I wish I knew what the chances were. It feels like we’re really solid, for sure, but it’s killing me that we don’t have context.” He swallows, his throat dry. “I don’t know what I’d do differently, if I had to restart. And that bothers me the most, right, because surely I should have the mental framework for it? It’s iterative. Improvement is iterative,” he says, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“You’re kind of in deep right now,” Daniel says. “You shouldn’t sweat it so much—I think Seb is right.”

Nico opens his eyes. He blinks, the glitter of quiet city lights below filling his vision. “Breathing space,” he says softly. He stretches out his legs and leans back, resting on his hands and tipping his head back to look at the black sky. “Well, my notebook is full now.”

Daniel shifts, looks at Nico. Nico watches him, Daniel’s eyes still bright in the semi-darkness. “I think you’ve done a really good job,” Daniel says. There’s such a juvenile tone in those simple words, and Nico’s suddenly struck—again—with just what they’ve done.

This whole game is playing grown-ups, but here they are, with a car they built with their own hands, and a 19-year-old and a 22-year-old who are going to drive it, to make the Real Adults proud of them, and hopefully convince more real adults that everyone who was on the team deserves to get paid for being good at building things. Nico feels ancient, but also astonishingly young. 

They’ve built a whole car.

It’s been done before, and it’ll be done again. And even though this car is born from the same bones of the 15 which preceded it, and even though it wears the same crisp white, black, and blue livery of its forebears, it was still these hands and this crew which came together to make it. And _that_ will never happen again.

“We’ve come such a long way,” Nico says slowly, and he can feel Daniel’s gaze on him. “With the car. And with everyone else, too.”

“I’m glad to still be with the team,” Daniel says, a tired smile on his face, but there’s a twinge in his voice that almost makes Nico wince. 

“You make it sound like you had a near-death experience,” Nico says, pensive.

Daniel hugs his knees to his chest and looks at Nico. “I wasn’t really sure I’d be good for you until the day we did the first tests,” he confesses. “I wanted to fit with the team right from the start, Valtteri wanted me there, but then—I got such a bad start and I was surprised every day I was still allowed back.”

“Thank Lewis for that. We both have to thank Lewis for that,” Nico says, falling back to lie down with his arms pillowing his head. He cranes his neck to look at Daniel. “I like you here, too.”

All Daniel replies is, “I was so scared of you.”

“I know. And I resented you so much.”

“I know, too.”

They’re silent for a moment.

“Everyone likes you though,” Nico says, finally. “I’m just glad you let me, too.”

Daniel scuffs his feet in the gravel. “Good thing you’re not straight, so I could like _you,”_ he deadpans, and dodges an easy swat from Nico. He grabs the weaponised hand instead, and Nico lets him.

“So what about next year?” Nico asks, and his tone is light but the words are hard to say. He lets Daniel squeeze his hand.

“My last year here,” Daniel comments. “Yours, too. It’ll be different with so much more free time,” he adds.

“For sure,” Nico says. He looks at Daniel again. “More free time for us?” he asks hopefully, and through the darkness, the light on Daniel’s face is effusive.

“Hm, I don’t know,” Daniel says, cupping his chin in his hand with exaggeration. “Seb and Charlie play board games. What do we do in _free time?_ Besides—yeah.”

“Besides that,” Nico says mockingly. “I don’t know; we’ll have to figure that out.” He sobers. “But we have to try; I want to try.”

“I want to too,” Daniel replies. He squeezes Nico’s hand again and releases it. “This isn’t a good place to decide things, is it.”

“It’s a fine place, it’s just too late to be deciding things,” Nico says. “I just know what I want but I don’t know if it’s silly. I don’t want to—to ask you to be my boyfriend if we know it’s super late and we have to finish a damn car in three weeks and we don’t even know what we like to do together. I just like _you,”_ he finishes, grumpier than he intended to sound.

But Daniel doesn’t seem to mind, grinning softly at Nico. “Are you not asking me to date you?”

“I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend,” Nico says, blinking up at the clear night sky.

“Then I’ll have to not say yes.”

“I can certainly not live with that, at least for now.”

“How about later?” Daniel asks.

Nico hums. “Later? When the competition is over? Maybe we’ll have to re-evaluate, when we’re under less pressure.” It’s almost impossible to imagine even when he closes his eyes, so Nico opens them and stops trying. They’re so close. He can breathe then, and clear out his desk in the computer lab, and hold Daniel’s hand a little more. Provided that the re-evaluation goes well.

“So it’s up in the air.”

“Gravity defying,” Nico confirms.

“I’ll be waiting, then,” Daniel says, and Nico meets his eyes.

They’re silent for another minute.

“I’m tired,” Daniel finally says. 

“I’m tired too. Shall we go?”

“I don’t want to move but I’m going to pass out here,” Daniel says, then yawns. 

“Alright,” Nico says, slowly sitting up and stretching. “God, I’m an old man now. Let’s leave the building the legal way.”

They take the 02:30 train home, leaning against each other under the cool fluorescent light in the empty car. Daniel drifts off against Nico’s shoulder, as the disembodied digital voice of the train names station after station, but suddenly Nico’s not that tired at all. Despite the bone deep exhaustion flooding his body, he doesn’t want to doze either, not when Daniel’s right here and somehow, _somehow,_ things are looking like they’ll be okay. He finds Daniel’s hand and squeezes it in his own. 

There’s no way things are staying up in the air for much longer.

* * *

It’s 06:03 when the second phone alarm rings. Nico, dead tired, doesn’t look up. “Grab that, Daniel?” he asks sleepily, shoving his face deeper into the pillow. When he squeezes his eyes shut, he’s taunted by visions of car parts he’s polished a dozen times. 

He absently registers the mattress shaking as Daniel scrambles off the bed and turns off the alarm. 

“It’s race week,” Daniel declares a second later, flinging open the curtains and turning back to Nico. 

It’s mid-July. The car was loaded into a crate two days ago and oh-so-carefully sent on its way to Silverstone, and Nico’s been sitting in the labs, which feel so empty now, losing his mind without the ability to channel his energy into any gears or wires or scraps of carbon fiber. Sebastian has been losing his mind about leaked images of the TU Delft powertrain, and Charles has been regretting showing him the photos. Daniel cried when the car was shipped away, and Valtteri pretended not to see it while handing him tissue, and Lewis and Susie have been long-suffering and rock solid, as always. 

“It’s race week,” Nico groans, sitting up. He hurls a pillow at Daniel, more for the latent thrill of directionless violence than out of any motive, and jumps out of bed. 

“Are we gonna win?” Daniel grins, shaking the pillow and tossing it back onto the bed.

“I dunno,” Nico says, helplessly smiling back. He’s too happy for this time of day; the blinding morning sunlight streaming into his eyes is ungodly but the catharsis promised at the end of this journey is so tantalising he doesn’t care. “Are you gonna drive like a winner?”

Daniel surfaces from the t-shirt he’s pulling over his head. “It’s the only way I know how,” he says, cheeky, and takes another pillow to the face a second later.

They step outside with their bags by the time it’s—Nico checks his watch—07:48, with Lewis on their heels. 

“Is everyone on schedule to be at the airport for nine?” Lewis asks, as they load their luggage into the car.

“They’ll suffer if they aren’t,” Nico says easily, then unzips his backpack to dig through a pocket. “Daniel?”

“Yeah?”

“Take us to the airport, okay?” Nico zips the backpack and tosses Daniel the car keys. Daniel catches them in one hand and looks up.

“You’re sure?” he asks, eyes wide.

Nico nods. “Drive like a winner.”


End file.
